Ex-Tabula Rasa

Truthful something

Mrs Fuiru got the Downton Abbey DVDs on the weekend for her birthday. We watched the first few episodes together.

Man, that is good shit. Fucked up shit, but good shit. Hilarious shit.

I came into it thinking it would be all po-faced household drama, but there’s more slapstick nonsense in that show than effing Laurel and Hardy repairing ladders in a ball-bearing factory.

There’s this one bit where a woman kicks out this guy’s cane from under him and he falls flat on his face in front of a visiting dignitary and everyone’s like “Ooh, Bates [his name is Bates! Like, could you get more funny than that?], you just ruined Christmas!”

Then there’s this other bit where someone dies in the middle of sex and everyone has to move him around the place and it is JUST LIKE WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S 2.

And then there’s a bit where this dizzy serving girl is given poison in one dish and something “that’s supposed to be put on the chicken” in another dish. Can you guess what happens? If you guessed complete and utter tragedy, think again. If you guess comedic genius, keep reading.

And Dame Maggie Smith (I got a bit annoyed because it just says “Maggie Smith” in the credits because GODDAMMIT she’s A FUCKING DAME) is hilarious because you know she can turn into a cat and she wears massive hats all the time. Each time I see her she’s wearing an even bigger hat and I reckon by episode six her hat will be so big that there’ll be a minor subplot in which the cast of Midsomer Murders are hiding in her headwear, staging detective mysteries.

Holy shit, Downton Abbey is brilliant. I can see why everyone likes it.

Uhm

During a very pleasant meal with two lovely ladies (and one more lovely lady who doesn’t have a Tumblr) this evening, we were talking on the subject of bridal showers, and I realised the following:

Eighteen months ago, I received a wedding gift from my coworkers. It was a gift card to William Ashley, purveyors of fine bone china and glassware.

Yesterday, at my colleague’s bridal shower in work, the same group of coworkers got her - a 26 year old female, I should point out - a gift care for Home Hardware, purveyors of power tools and DIY equipment.

I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that they got me a William Ashley gift card over a Home Hardware gift card, or the fact that I’m actually happier with the William Ashley gift card.

I don’t know which is worst:

1. Having to come to work at 7:30 because of morons amassing three months’ worth of work on their desks and giving it to me three days before I go off on holiday
2. Waking up two hours earlier than usual while it’s still fucking dark in August, fer Chrissakes
3. Listening to the stale wit of my early-bird colleagues as they feign shock and fainting spells in order to convey how utterly amazing it is that I’m here before 9:00